


Diaphaneity

by f_m_r_l



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Fluff, Great Hiatus, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:34:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_m_r_l/pseuds/f_m_r_l
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are always a few last minute details when packing for a journey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diaphaneity

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the lovely queerlyobscure, who beta read this.
> 
> It would help to be familiar with "The Final Problem" and the difficulty of Watson's time lines and wives. I used Brad Keefauver's time line because he seemed to make at least as much sense as any of them.
> 
> Inspired by the holmes100 drabble contest prompt “'The man who has no secrets from his wife either has no secrets or no wife.' -Gilbert Wells".

"Holmes," Watson called from his desk, "was I already married in 1888?"

Holmes was contemplating his pipe rack, a sturdy travel trunk half filled with carefully folded clothing and loosely tumbled papers at his feet. "Honestly, John, I would think you would have drawn up a chart by now — or at least a list. Your fictional wives are not among the details with which I care to clutter the lumber room of my mind."

Watson rolled his eyes. Though his luggage was already tidily stacked beside the door, his hair was in disarray and cuffs covered in ink spots; he still managed to look more harried than Holmes. "The wives were your idea to keep the marriage minded clients off our backs. _A Study in Scarlet_ alone managed to make you one of the most unmarriageable — but most employable — bachelors in the British Empire; the least you can do in return is to help me keep track of the wives I've supposedly acquired since, my dear Holmes."

"Your readers will be too caught up in your flights of romanticism — or the study of my methods, should you choose a less fantastical approach — to pay much attention to whether or not you have a wife."

Holmes chose one particular pipe, stuffed it into a coat pocket with some shag, and moved on to carefully packing a selection of his rarer lab apparatus into its own crate. ""It may be that you had wed Mary by that time. Aren't you married to her still? How are you going to deal with that?"

"Hadn't I revealed my plan?" Watson shuffled his papers. "That's so unlike me as to be more like you. She'll be leaving for a sanitarium in the countryside shortly after your 'death' and I, being a dutiful husband, will follow."

"Thus explaining your absence so that you can move to France with me. Don't neglect to weave mentions of your guileless nature into the fabric of your accounts." After a last handful of excelsior, Holmes put the lid on the crate, carefully tapping tacks in at the edges. "Will you have time to have a story published by then?"

"Maybe Mrs. Hudson will spread the rumor for us. We pay her enough! At any rate, I've left the stories with my agent, and he'll have more control over when they are published than I will. He'll be the one here and dealing with the papers."

Watson looked up from his notes, then jumped to snatch a bottle of a particularly flammable liquid out of Holmes's hand. "I'm sure they have chemicals in France, my love." He took the opportunity to lean in against Holmes's back and plant a kiss at the nape of Holmes's neck, just above his collar, inhaling the complex blend of scents that had come to signify home and love. Pomade, shaving soap, smoke from several different types of tobacco, a lingering chemical odor that no number of washings could remove from Holmes's favorite dressing gown, and the ineffable way Holmes's own scent changed them all. "I shall miss you dreadfully."

Holmes squeezed Watson's hands and then moved away to finish shoving the bulk of his disguise kit into his trunk. He strapped the trunk closed, making sure the locks engaged with a final series of clicks. "Two weeks of hiking and fresh air together! After I set the scene at Reichenbach Falls, I'll pick up our luggage from my agent in Paris and put the finishing touches on our place in France while you deal with the police, the funeral, and the sad removal of your wife to the countryside." He hummed with contentment. "We'll be together again before you know it. You're going to enjoy France tremendously." He paused, eyes briefly unfocused and mouth touched by a half smile, then briskly returned to matters at hand.

"Have you decided on a name for our mysterious 'Mastermind of Crime'? Really, John, I think that this time you may be overestimating the public's credulity, unless you're going to rewrite the cases you'd been recording to include him."

"'Moriarty'. But I have years before I need to write that story." Watson put a few last notes in his Gladstone bag. "Whatever makes it into the news will suffice until later. And later I'll work out whatever corrections I need to send for the rest of my stories."

Watson looked around the room. Everything appeared as though it were waiting for Holmes to return after a brief jaunt, exactly as it should. "We have an early train to catch tomorrow. Are you coming to bed?"

With a smile, Holmes did.


End file.
